A pretty fight attendant smiled at Lance and said, "Buh Bye" as he exited the airplane and headed down the ramp which lead to the inside of the airport. It had once been called Weir Cook Airport and was still located on Weir Cook Memorial Blvd., but it is now simply known as Indianapolis International, or IND for short. The trivia helped steady Lance's mind as he searched for the priest who had come to meet him and get him to his grandmother's side.

He stopped and shifted the strap of his bag a little higher on his shoulder. Then he saw who he was looking for. He quickened his steps, nearly running to get to the priest and as he got close, Lance extended his hand. Father Jim reached out and grasped Lance's hand and shook it a little too long. His other hand gripped Lance's shoulder and a look of concern came to his eyes. Lance's gut tightened.

"We need to get on the road." Father Jim looked at the floor. "Your grandmother is in a coma and we should get there as soon as we can."

"This bag is all I brought, so no baggage claim," said Lance. "We can hit the bricks right away."

"Good. Let's go then. We can talk more on the road."

The two men hurried to the parking garage and found Father Jim's car. Once inside, they made their way out of the airport and onto I-69. The plan was to stop off at Lance's home in Frankton and pick up his car, then head to the hospital in the neighboring town of Anderson. Lance wanted to get to his grandmother as quickly as possible. But he also needed to have transportation so Father Jim would not be stuck driving him around all day.

"I appreciate that, Father," Lance replied. "But I know you have other things to do." He reached, almost reflexively, for his small notebook and pen which he carried in his shirt pocket. "Tell me all you can about the accident. Who hit my grandmother?"

"It was someone from out of town. I don't have a name for you. You will need to ask the police. They talked to him for quite some time."

"Do you know how it happened?" Lance's journalist skills took over as started filling in the H's and jotting down notes.

"She parked across the street from the post office just like always. She was crossing the street to check her mail and the car just hit her. I cannot imagine why he was going so fast. He tried to stop, but didn't make it in time. She has a few broken bones, but she hit her head on the pavement. That is the most serious injury. The doctor gave her a drug which induced a coma. That is about all I know right now."

Lance wrote down every word. He had an exact quote even though it was unnecessary. He would never forget those details. As he reached his grandmother's bed-side, he knew this would stay in his memory until the end of his days.

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These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of these stories may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the author and copyright owner.